"Because you scare me..."

I went to SLC Pride this weekend - a little rainy, but I've interpreted it as "braving the storm." For, in fact, isn't that what we've all done? We should be proud of ourselves for doing that.

However, I faced a storm when I got home. You see, I had explained to my mom well ahead of time that I was going to the Pride Festival (as I had done the year before), but I did not explain this to my dad for two reasons. I figured that he would know I was gone but not know where I was going (as usual - which is TOTALLY fine), and I also figured that he would get angry and perhaps not let me go. So I figured that I would have to confront him with the truth when I got home. I didn't want to, but I knew it would be a possibility.

When I returned home, the only person there was my older brother who was napping in the basement. So I went to my room and straightened it up and started to watch TV. When my dad got home, he came up to my room and talked with me. Our conversation, recreated to the best of my memory and ability:

"Where were you?"

"I was hanging out with friends."

"Who? What were you doing?"

"You don't know them. We chilled, watched a movie, went out to eat. [All true - but with different groups of people.]

"Oh okay... Well I know you were at this Pride thing they've got going on downtown."

"How did you know I was there?"

"Drew, don't you think I would know? Sure, I know! Why wouldn't I know where you were?"

"Did mom tell you?"

"No, she didn't tell me. I just knew. [pause] So these 'people' you were with - I assume they struggle with the same thing? Are these the people from that thing in Lehi?" [I still don't know how he knew. I don't believe that my mom told him.]

"Yeah, they are the ones from Lehi."

"Um... It really disappoints me that you went to that thing [Pride]. It completely goes against everything that I've taught you."

"You haven't even been to it before."

"That doesn't mean that I don't have an idea of what it's about."

"Oh, so you're passing judgment on something and, by default, onto me, that you only have an 'idea' about? That's not fair. That doesn't make sense to me."

"I'm not passing judgment, Drew. I'm just trying to help you. Look - there is one view on homosexuality as far as the world is concerned, and that view is put on for show at these things."

"Oh, really?! What is this 'one view'?"

"The world doesn't separate the feelings from the behavior. They think that it's one way or the other; that if you have these feelings then you must act upon them."

"So? Just because you disagree with them doesn't mean that there's only one view."

"Well, yeah there is but not according to the world. The only time I have seen a positive view put forward and encouraged was that one guy who wrote that book [Ty Mansfield, co-author of In Quiet Desperation]. What's his name? [I didn't tell him his name.] Well, anyway, that is the only example I can think of where gay people are encouraged to obey the commandments, stay celibate, etc... And that is sad. It's a total shame."

[I should've said something snarky like, "Well I think it's sad that half of all of Utah's homeless teens identify as LGBT and have been kicked out of their homes," but I didn't.] "Well it's the Church's own fault. It's published by the Church [vicariously] and is sold in Deseret Book [a church-owned store]. You can't put that onto anyone else. The Church publishes it but doesn't let people know that they sell it. I have to find out from another gay person, who found out from another gay person, etc... You remember the pamphlet, God Loveth His Children? Well the only advertising the Church did [that I saw] was in the Deseret News. Bishop ______ didn't even know about it - I had to tell him when I went to talk with him once. You would think that the Church would make a huge announcement about new literature it produces, especially about something as important as this. How would Bishop ______ not know about it? You would think they would make it known to their leadership if they produced something like that."

"I just don't think the world is ready for it yet. One day all of this will seem trivial because it will become a non-issue. But it hasn't happened yet."

"Dad, things are changing, and I want to be a part of it. It's a process; it doesn't just happen overnight. I'm not going to put my life on hold because the world's not ready for it yet."

[long pause]

"You know, Drew? This whole 'ASS' thing is taking its toll on me. It really is." [I'm not joking, either. He really said this.]

"'ASS' thing? 'SSA', you mean?" [laughing and rolling my eyes]

"Yeah, sorry: SSA. It just takes its toll, you know?"

"Uh, yeah... I know."

"And it really just upsets me when you wear your ring." [My ring is silver with a flat top, in which six small fake stones, each one a different color rainbow, are set.]

"Why?!"

"Because I don't think that it represents what you think it represents."

"Well what do you think it represents? What do you think when you see it?"

"I think it sends the message, 'Hey! Come have a good time! Yeah, come on over. Let's hook up and have a good time. I'm looking for somethin'.'"

"Well that's not what it means."

"Well that's what I'm saying - that you are sending the wrong message by wearing it. And I don't like you to wear it because I think that people who don't know you well enough will think that about you when it's not true."

"Well that's their problem, not mine."

"I just think that it does you a disservice. [long pause] Yeah, Drew, it just really shreds my heart when I see you wearing that ring. It really does. [short pause] It's like you're shoving it in people's faces!"

"What?! That doesnt' even make sense, Dad. You wear a wedding ring - does that mean that you're shoving your marriage down in people's faces? At work? At the gym? In Church?" [When I was talking with Scott earlier today, he made a comparison to a "CTR" ring that I could've used in my argument.]

"I just don't like it. In all my life, I have never seen another person wear a ring like that - not once. And yet you feel as if you must wear it. I don't understand that."

"Well you obviously don't know a lot of gay people then."

"Oh, that's bologna! You don't think I've seen gay people downtown? None of them feel like they need to wear a ring."

"Well I do. Besides, it's a ring - you don't just walk up to someone and check to see if they are wearing a ring. That's ridiculous."

"Well, no, but rings are noticeable. And yours would stick out like a sore thumb!"

[long pause]

"Dad, I would be willing to not wear my ring during a specific time, day, or place just for you. Do you want me to do that?

"No. Drew, I love you and I hope you know that. I worry about your safety. I just don't want you coming home one day beat up."

"I know. Love you, too."

[He comes over to the bed, where I am sitting, and gives me a hug. About five minutes later I walk down the stairs and he is smiling and getting ready to go to the family party at my relatives' house. My mom and sister are in the kitchen just around the corner.]

"Thanks for talking with me. I guess we just don't have very good communication. I want to have that communication with you. How come you tell mom things and not me sometimes?"

"Because you scare me..."

Transitions and Why I Give Myself the Benefit of the Doubt

I have had a lot of closure in my life as of late. I came out on Facebook two weeks ago, I have basically moved out of my family's home, I have a job interview tomorrow that I am almost sure will secure me employment, and today was my last scheduled OCD therapy session.

Of course, some of these "closures" have opened up new opportunities that have given me new experiences; I feel like I am transitioning to something new every day, and I feel like I am not succeeding as much as I'd like. I feel like the Angels in Angels in America, who come to Earth to tell the human race that they are always constantly moving and changing, and that sometimes all that is needed is constancy and static; sometimes change is not good.

I don't mean to imply that I am not liking all these changes; on the contrary, most of them are welcome, although not all of them are easy. And despite most of them being welcome, that doesn't make them any more tolerable. It's just that I feel like all of these changes are happening to fast.

Oddly, though, I know for each and every one of these changes that now is the right time. I feel like God is guiding me and directing me; I look back at all the times I was frustrated when I didn't get a job after an interview; at all the times when I wanted to "come out" but someone or something held me back; at all the times when I didn't understand why I should go to USU when I had a better scholarship somewhere else; and see that I was being guided yet didn't know it at these times.

Looking back and realizing when and how I was guided has increased my testimony and my faith in His timing.

Of course, it is presumptuous to think that the job I am interviewing for tomorrow is mine. But I feel as though things will work out: if I get it, then great! And if I don't, then great! I know that His will is all that matters at this point, and that I just have to trust it. Trust Him.


To add more thoughts on my experience with OCD therapy...

I can't believe that the eight weeks are over! Before starting the therapy, I completed a three hour intake assessment. Following that, I received weekly treatment for eight weeks. And today, I completed the outtake assessment.

Completing the outtake assessment has opened my eyes to exactly how much improvement I have made in controlling my thoughts (obsessions) and actions (compulsions). During the outtake today, the person doing my assessment had my intake notes to guide her in the outtake process. Basically, she only asked me the questions that related to specific obsessions and compulsions that I had responded to at the intake. Honestly, I had forgotten how much this controlled my life. She was asking me questions about obsessions and compulsions that were a real part of my life before therapy but now seem foreign. In fact, they seemed foreign enough that sometimes I didn't even remember that they had ever existed!

This is so exciting to me! Now, I still have some bad days when I can't seem to control my obsessions or compulsions, but that's okay. Part of the therapy is facing the fact that real people have anxiety (obsessions) over things; in other words, OCD has no cure because if the definition were "no anxious thoughts" then everyone would have OCD. The best way to "cure" OCD is to train a person's mind to realize that it is okay to feel anxiety, but giving anxious thoughts too much credence will make them grow in number and frequency. Oddly enough, making a conscious effort to battle OCD actually makes the situation worse; the best way to "fight" OCD is to actually not fight at all. Another lesson that I learned was that anxiety fluctuates continually due to many factors: age, season, situations one faces or experiences, etc... Sometimes to have intense anxiety is perfectly normal and okay (such as in response to the death of a loved one).

I feel like a new person! Although I am still diagnosed as having OCD, it is currently in a mild state as compared to what it was eight weeks ago. For the longest time I couldn't comprehend why the Lord told me (through prayer) that I must go to USU; I had a better scholarship at another school, it is more expensive for me to live away from home, and it is quite inconvenient in so many ways. However, walking out of my seventh session it just hit me: I am here because I needed to receive this treatment. And what was the cherry on top? It was free!

The lessons I've learned have generalized to other areas of my life. I used to feel so frustrated with myself for having gay feelings and for being interested in gay-oriented movies, books, and topics. It used to cause me to experience so much discomfort, and I thought that it was because having these feelings and being interested in these things were inherently immoral. But now I know better. Of course I am going to be interested in these things: I am gay, after all! Wanting to watch Brokeback Mountain is a natural reaction for a gay individual from any background. It is no more surprising or immoral for a straight individual to have a desire to watch The Notebook or to read the book of the same name.

In short, the lessons I've learned from my OCD therapy experience actually helped me to give myself some credit. Honestly, before OCD therapy I thought that giving myself the benefit of the doubt would be a cop-out. I didn't like the idea because it made me feel as though I was weak and needed to rationalize what I was thinking or doing in order to make myself feel better. But now I know that people need to give themselves the benefit of the doubt sometimes just to keep themselves from exploding!

Interestingly, this concept relates to the Atonement. Realizing that we are not perfect (giving ourselves the benefit of the doubt) makes use of the Atonement because we are demonstrating to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ that we know we are not perfect, that we know we need help, and that not only do we have knowledge of the Atonement, but that we have enough faith in it to put it to use in our lives. After all, it is only He that can heal our wounds and truly make us whole. And the shortcomings that fall through the cracks when we give ourselves the benefit of the doubt (which has a prerequisite of trying to meet Him halfway) will be forgiven if and when we pass our burdens and trials over to Him with faith.

Finally... Peace

I had a spiritual experience the other night that was purely amazing, and I feel confident in what I was blessed with and how my prayers were answered.

The other night I felt this urge to go to Denny's by myself and ponder about my life, my choices, my future, etc... I pulled into the parking lot and said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father if He would please bring those things to my mind that I should be pondering, to guide my thinking, to make things clearer to me, and to bring me some closure, some peace of mind.

As I was sitting in the restaurant (at 2/2:30 a.m.) the moment hit me like a rock. I was supposed to be here on this day, in this restaurant, at this time. I felt peaceful, loved and cared for by Him. My heart was full with joy and gratitude because He was reminding me of all the blessings I had received throughout my life, despite the trials and hardships I had endured.

When I got home, I thought that the moment was over; it wasn't. I wanted to listen to my iPod as I fell asleep, something I usually do, but I just felt that doing that on this night was not right. As I was in my room I felt the urge to pick up an LDS quote book and read the quotes selected for Friday and Saturday: "Covenants and Oaths" & "Preserve Your Divine Heritage." After that, I noticed The Secret placed on my nightstand; I picked it up also, flipping to a random page. The page I flipped to described the trials of a gay man and how he used "The Secret" to be happy and positive:

"His whole life changed because he changed from focusing on what he did not want, what he was afraid of, what he wanted to avoid, to focusing on what he did want."

I again flipped the page randomly and the following was written:

"If you do just a little research, it is going to become evident to you that anyone that ever accomplished anything, did not know how they were going to do it. They only knew they were going to do it."

I flipped the page randomly for the last time and the following was written:

"Whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive - Matthew 21:22" (emphasis added)

I knew that I was meant to see those three passages at that exact moment, and I was grateful that he was guiding me in my pondering.

I got into bed and laid down on my back and prayed once more. It was the most amazing moment I have ever experienced. I realized that I had been following The Secret principles throughout the night: I wanted peace and to be guided, so I prayed for peace, to be guided - and I experienced a feeling of peace, and I was being guided by Him.

I did not decide what to pray about; rather I listened for the promptings as to what I should pray about. After a few stumped moments I felt that I had three specific people that I needed to forgive, that I needed to address them through prayer; it was weird because I didn't even think about who they might be: I knew exactly who these three people were. I proceeded to address these people as if I was talking directly to them. I told them I was sorry for them because of _____. I told them how I am choosing to forgive them for what they did (or neglected to do). That healing experience was something I never could have done by myself, and the fact that it finally happened was an answer to a prayer; He knew that it was time to heal.

I prayed about how I was saddened that the three out of four people in my family who have died have all been those who I was really close to: my great Aunt and both of my grandmothers. (My great Aunt Norma lived her life solo, something that I may have to go through, and can't even imagine at this moment. My Grandma Christensen was fairly independent. She told people exactly what she felt, but at the same time being someone who knows how hard life is. She went through her own trials, and would certainly admit that she wasn't perfect. My mom has told me that she knows only two people who would go to the movies by themselves: me and my Grandma Christensen. I grew closer to my Grandma Stelter as I got older. I got her hooked on Lost and me and her were avid supporters of Barack Obama (although she lamented Hillary Clinton's loss)). At that moment, something changed. I look back and realize that subconsciously I knew that something was odd. I leaned up and looked around the room more than once, but I could not see anyone or hear anything. However, I knew that there was a different spirit in the room; my room had literally transformed into a Holy Place. I felt as though everything that was happening in the world was going on in my room. It was so surreal. I was reliving the last moment I had with my Grandma Stelter, and I was blessed that she had remembered my name, her relationship to me, and what I was doing in life; days later she would die. A connection existed between us the other night that I cannot deny. It was testified to me that she still knew who I was; she knew what was going on right now in my life; she knew the choices I've made and the choices I face. She testified to me that I was not alone - that she was with me and wanted me to be happy.

Later during my prayer, relating to the quotes above, it was testified to me that whatever happens, I was going to be happy. I didn't know how I was going to be happy, how I was going to find that happiness, all I knew is that I was going to be happy. I didn't know what that happiness entailed, all I knew is that I was going to be happy.

The only thing that left me confused was something that I know was testified to me; why I am confused is because I'm wondering why something like that would be testified to me. It was testified to me that at this time in my life, the Church is doing me more harm than good; that I am not meant to be involved with it at this time. I know that it does not mean an abandonment of Gospel principles, but rather an involvement with the Church. I know that this was testified to me. And yet, at the same time, it was testified to me that I am going to be happy. I didn't know what that entailed, how it was going to come about; all I knew was that I was going to be happy. Both of these things were testified unto me. Whatever the contradiction, I know that He will guide me and it will all work out.

I finished by asking the Lord to bless me with peace, completeness, and wholeness, and I trusted that it would come; I behaved as though I had already received it. And I did receive it from Him.

When I woke up the next day I was no longer angry about most of the things I was angry about before this experience. The past no longer mattered to me. I read the news headlines without any anger. I thought about anger-producing things and I felt no anger. I was peaceful and content.

And yet again, the next night (last night) I felt the prompting to pray again, that the prayer the night before went incomplete. I laid in bed wondering what could possibly be left to say, as I had felt amazing things the night before and all felt right to me. I felt the prompting that there was one more person that I needed to forgive, that I had neglected to forgive this person the night before. I tried to think about who this person was, but I could not place a finger on it. It was in stark contrast to the night before, where I had immediately known who the three specific people were that I needed to forgive. But the Lord let me know that the person I still needed to forgive was myself. I asked the Lord to guide my thoughts to the things that I needed to forgive about myself, and He let me know. I accepted the things about my past; I accepted that fact that I had no control over my past, that I could not re-write history; I accepted all the trials that I've gone through, and was grateful for how they changed me; I accepted my strengths as well as my weaknesses, and realized that they are not deficits in my person. And most of all, I accepted the fact that I am a Beautiful Creature of value and worth; that I am a Child, even a Son, of God, and that God's love is unconditional and He will always have love for me.

I wish I could relive the past two days over and over and over again. It sounds cliche, but I feel totally comfortable dying now; I trust Him and trust His plan for me. I can't see the big picture like He can, but I know that if I trust Him, then I can experience those things that He wants me to experience, and for my betterment.

I really don't know what is going to happen next, but I welcome it because I trust His promise that I am going to be happy.

After reading this, please do what He tells you to do, what He prompts you to do. Trust him.

My Saving Grace

I am currently enjoying a long weekend thanks to SLCC's Fall Break. I didn't go in to work today, and I don't have school tomorrow morning. This is very welcome, as next week will be my last at the University of Utah Hospital and I will immediately jump into my next facility the following week.

For some background knowledge, my instructor has clinical spots lined up from Ogden to American Fork. For those of you who don't live in Utah, Ogden is about 1.5 hours north of Salt Lake City, while American Fork is about 30-45 minutes (depending on traffic) south of Salt Lake City. So the range of possible facilities for him to send me and others to is pretty diverse; it includes both hospitals and outpatient surgical centers. And, according to him, he always sends his best student to Primary Children's Medical Center (PCMC). This hospital is nationally ranked and treats only pediatric patients. He only has one clinical spot there for the next rotation.

Well, this past Wednesday he called me (on my cell phone - how cool is that!?) and asked me if I would feel comfortable at PCMC; he does this only for this facility because he knows that not everyone is comfortable working with children. I told him that I am all for it; it is an Intermountain Healthcare (IHC) facility after all. (I need to get hired with IHC to be able to transfer up to Logan Regional Hospital while I am going to school at Utah State University.) Also, I don't mind working with children at all. While I am not sure yet, because I have never worked with them, I suspect that I may actually prefer to work with children. I get this from my mom; she is a Registered Nurse and has worked with children all her life. In fact, she did a clinical rotation at PCMC while she was in nursing school and was hired there after she graduated.

I regret not sounding excited enough about this opportunity on the phone with my instructor; I tend to communicate more mechanically than emotionally.That's just part of my personality and, while I certainly try to balance things out, it will probably always be that way.

However, I feel so grateful for this opportunity. The fact that he and his assistant instructor (who is freakin' awesome as well) feel like they can trust me enough to send me there is an amazing feeling!

To have my instructors' faith and backing gives me a much-needed confidence booster. I, like everyone, second-guess my skills and abilities at times. And because of the nature of the University Hospital, I haven't gotten alot of feedback on my progress. The reason my instructor sent me there was because it is a clinical site where students are expected to police themselves and act independently. For example, most facilities assign their students specific rooms for the day; the University Hospital expects its students to assign themselves to rooms. In fact, I was once scolded by my nurse educator for waiting for her to assign me! I wasn't able to gauge where my skills were at until the assistant instructor communicated some information to me at one of her random weekly clinical site visits. She communicated to me that my nurse educator told her the following: "Drew is doing great, and here's how I know: No news is good news, and I've heard good news about Drew." Now, I know that that quote probably doesn't make sense at first, but I'll explain. My preceptors (Surgical Technologists whom I train with side-by-side during cases) are free to communicate absolutely anything about students (whether negative or positive) to my nurse educator. The reasoning is this: if they have something negative to report to her, they report it. But if they have something positive to report, they either say nothing or they report it. And if they elect to say nothing, it is either because my performance was just average or because they are lazy. My nurse educator assumes that if nothing is reported to her then she has doesn't have to worry about me because there are no major complaints. However, she has heard "good news about [me]." This means that I have impressed my preceptors enough that they were compelled to communicate about my progress to my nurse educator. Up until the assistant instructor communicated this to me about two weeks ago I had nothing on which to base my progress.

I feel like the past seventeen months have been worth it and that all my hard work is finally coming to fruition. All I have done is put forth my best effort, and I am glad that that best effort is good enough for my instructors, for my facilities, and for me. However, by no means am I perfect. I haven't always completed my homework 100%; I haven't always stayed awake in class; I haven't always made it to the University Hospital every day that was expected of me. However, I feel like I have put forth the best effort I could, especially given the issues and situations I've faced the past seventeen months: I was seeing a therapist at LDS Family Services nearly the whole time; my family took in a foster child just three months into my schooling and we are officially adopting her in mid-October; I have had to go through the repentance process (more than once); and I have "come out" to several people during this time period...

And I know that I couldn't have done all of this had Heavenly Father not strengthened and sustained me and my efforts. I owe it all to Him. He has blessed me even though I have made major blunders in the past seventeen months. He stuck by my side and knew that, at times, all I had to hold on to in this life was the completion of the Surgical Technology program. Yes, I have had suicidal thoughts in the past seventeen months, although those feelings have come and gone. There was one time this past spring when I came extremely close to following through on those thoughts, but I didn't because I at least wanted to see myself through the program; it has been a Saving Grace for me. It was the one consistent thing in my life besides therapy. Looking back, I suspect that I subconciously knew that, and that's probably why I've put more effort into this than into anything else in my life. All I can say is that I'm going to have an extremely difficult time when it all comes to an end in early December, even though I will stay involved through being on the program's Advisory Committee.

I'm so grateful that I was accepted into this program. The competition was and is apparently tough, something I didn't really grasp until after I was accepted and my instructor was reviewing test scores and applications for the next group of students. It is truly something that I was meant to do. And Heavenly Father knew that. He has guided me, directed me, and enabled me to get to this point. I feel blessed and loved by Him. But most important of all, I feel that He cares about me and my life, and it feels overwhelmingly sweet to be able to call Him my ally.

My Fabled First Day at "Scrub Tech" Clinical

My first day of "Scrub Tech" clinical was August 20th, but I am only just now writing about it... probably because I knew it would be so long!

Here is a link to the U.S. Department of Labor's website detailing everything about the Surgical Technologist. I recommend you read "Nature of the Work" before finishing my post, as you will have a greater understanding of my experience.

Just so that you have an idea of how totally bizarre and rare my day was (even for a seasoned Tech), I will tell you about what my instructor had to say about it. I called him on his cell phone (isn't that awesome that he gives all his students his cell phone number?!) that night and he didn't answer; I didn't call him again until Friday afternoon two days later. I told him a much more detailed story than I am allowed to tell you (due to HIPAA patient privacy laws), and he said that the events I witnessed would've "shaken" him and he's been "scrubbing" for twelve years!

I will begin with some background information. My parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary the same week that I started clinical. They left for BYU to attend Education Week (I know - what a way to celebrate) on the morning of Monday the 18th. Therefore, my brothers and I were "stuck" babysitting my foster sister Janessah (she's 4 years old) all week; we each had different day assignments.

Tuesday had been designated as my older brother Cameron's day to babysit. Well, on Tuesday night, he had his friend KC over from West Valley City. He had brought over Little Caesar's pizza while the two were watching the Beijing Olympics. Well, Janessah came up to me just as I was about to go to my room and get ready for bed and asked me to help her get ready for bed (this includes getting her pajamas on, brushing her hair and her teeth, putting her lip gloss on, reading her one or two books, and laying by her in bed until she falls asleep). I knew it was Cameron's job, but I decided to be nice and started the process. As I was lying next to her in bed, Cameron came waltzing up the stairs yelling her name. I got up from her bed and told him that everything had been done. I was frustrated, to say the least, but I just wanted to be nice. I could've easily gone downstairs and told Cameron that she was ready for help in getting ready for bed, but because I didn't, I have no one to blame except myself.

Suffice it to say that I could not get to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about clinical because of all the unknowns involved. "What cases will I get to work on tomorrow? Who will my preceptor be? Am I really prepared?" - these were all thoughts running through my head until I finally fell asleep sometime between 2:30 and 3:00 a.m. (keep in mind that I wake up at 4:50 a.m.). Also keeping me awake was Janessah. She had asked KC earlier in the night to read her a book titled, There's a Monster in My Closet. I have no idea why she would want to listen to that story; my mom has "monster spray" (water in a spray bottle) that she sprays in my sister's closet before she goes to sleep, and Janessah has to see her spray it. The bottom line is: Janessah thinks there's a monster in her closet! Anyway, she kept waking up crying at fifteen-minute intervals throughout the night. I had to get out of bed and take care of her because Cameron was two floors below us in the basement and couldn't hear a thing!

Note: Most of the following has been edited in order to comply with HIPAA patient privacy laws. A name has been changed. Other information is entirely left out. I'm sorry; I would like to share every detail, but I don't want to get sued. I also want to respect the privacy and dignity of the patients whom I've served.

As a warning, the following paragraph contains some potentially nausea-inducing descriptions of a specific aspect of surgery.

"Debra" was assigned to be my preceptor. She had been assigned to a dang tiny O.R. that day. My first case was very simple. The surgeon made the incision with the Bovie (electrocautery; and let me tell you - the Bovie smells worse than anything I have ever smelled before. It smells like a mixture of diarrhea and vomit. Just think about it: you are smelling burning flesh!), then dissected through some tissue with a pair of scissors... All I am allowed to say from here is that the patient woke up screaming obscenities at the surgeon while kicking and throwing punches. Twice. It was one of those moments when you know that you are witnessing something no human should ever see or hear. "Debra" and the surgeon quickly tried to pin the patient down, and I moved the mayo stand out of the way. "Debra" shouted at me to remove the Bovie tip (if ally activated, the Bovie could start an O.R. fire and burn the patient). After the patient had calmed down, the surgeon simply said, "I'm done," and walked out of the room; he was ed at the anesthesiologist.


Because I had been shocked by the preceding case, my next case ended up being my worst so far. In preparing my table setup, I ally contaminated the edge of one of the instrument pans. "Debra" noted it and said that it was fine as long as I didn't touch the contaminated edge with the inner pan. Then "Debra" scrubbed in (meaning she had become sterile) and helped me with the rest of the table setup. After the setup was almost complete, I noticed that I had torn a small hole in the finger of one of my gloves. I showed "Debra" and she yelled at me for not double-gloving. The following videos detail a cardiovascular-specific back table setup, a surgical hand scrub, gowning & gloving yourself, and gowning & gloving another person:







For the second case, I had been assigned by the surgeon to hold the retractors, so I was looking straight into the incision. He was using the Bovie quite heavily, and the smell started to get to me; I was getting light-headed. This went on for a few minutes, and I just kept telling myself that I could do it. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths on more than one occasion. I guess that at one point I couldn't help it anymore and reflexively took a huge breath, which caught the attention of the surgeon, who said, "Are you okay?" I immediately said, while struggling to breathe, "No. No I'm not. I need to sit down." The nurse responded like a pro and had a chair right behind me in which I sat down. She was struggling to take off my gown; I was weak, limp, and pale, and my weight didn't help her much. Once she got it off, she said, "Uh-huh. Here we go." She turned the gown so that the inside of it was facing "Debra" and the surgeon and it was completely drenched and dripping with sweat. She put a cool wash cloth on my neck and told me to keep my head down.

While sitting there, I almost started crying. I felt like I could get away with at least a little bit of emotion because my head was down. I couldn't help but think, "What the heck am I doing here? How could this have turned out so badly? I know what I'm doing, so why am I have such a hard time doing it?" She leaned over and told me to not worry, that it happens to everyone, even residents. I honestly didn't care; I the residents! I knew that I was better than this, and it disappointed me so much. That's why I was crying.

After I had regained my composure, she told me to go to the lounge and get a cup of ice water and to drink it slowly. I was back in the O.R. in about ten minutes and the surgeon was suturing the wound close - which means the case was pretty much over. I was kind of relieved that I wouldn't have to scrub in again (at least for this same case), but I also felt like I had made myself look like an absolute idiot. I mean, what a great first impression to give these people! I knew that they were going to talk to their co-workers about the whole situation, and resigned myself to the fact that I shouldn't worry about that because it is something that I do not and cannot have control over. Suffice it to say, the next week one of the other students at my facility had told one of my peers on Trax that I had fainted on my first day. When I learned of this, I just rolled my eyes and knew that it wasn't true - and that was enough for me.

All I could think about throughout the day were Janessah and my mother. I just wanted to see them so badly. So, when I raced out of the building at just after 3:00 p.m. I immediately called my mother and talked to her for only a short bit, but she promised me that she would listen to me when she got home from Education Week.

The big problem with clinical is that, although I get off work at 3:00 p.m., I don't actually get home until 4:30 or 5:00 because I take UTA Trax and it takes forever. So, it was a pleasant surprise when I got home; my brothers and sister were waiting for to get home so that we could all go to dinner together (hurray for Panda Express and Arctic Circle shakes!). It was a welcome stress-free environment. I felt like I had been to Hell and back that day, and all I needed was some time with my family. That is the best thing that I have noticed about doing clinical: I have gained a greater appreciation for my family because they will love me no matter what, and they will be more patient with me than others will. I love my family deeply, and I can't imagine not having my own family in the future someday...